


bloom

by valdera



Series: winter flower [1]
Category: DAYS (Anime & Manga)
Genre: idiots to lovers, this is just. so not a serious fic so rip to all of u
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26609548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valdera/pseuds/valdera
Summary: It’s hard to tell, because Ooshiba’s hair is so strikingly bright, but Kimishita thinks there’s a faint dusting of pink across his cheeks.Oh, Kimishita thinks, almost struck breathless.Oh, I—Ooshiba’s hand slides down to intertwine with his, and Kimsihita, against all odds, lets him.“Is this what you meant?” Kimishita manages to ask.Ooshiba coughs violently. “Closer,” he mutters, gritting his teeth. “This is... this is closer.”Kimishita doesn’t know how to bring up the fact that he might have a horrible and unfortunate crush on Ooshiba, actually, so maybe this is the worst way to do team bonding, ever.
Relationships: Kimishita Atsushi/Ooshiba Kiichi
Series: winter flower [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1935772
Comments: 12
Kudos: 34





	bloom

**Author's Note:**

> it's midnight so this might be. a little incoherent of a fic but i hope it's enjoyable nonetheless!

After three harrowing games of rock paper scissors, Kimishita curses every god he’s ever known.

“I can’t pay,” he says, feeling faint. He wonders if it’s too late to pretend he’d picked rock instead of paper. Ooshiba might just be dumb enough to believe it if he changed his answer now. Then again, Ooshiba also has a horrible knack of knowing whenever Kimishita is lying. 

“Fuck you,” Kimishita says, more to the world than Ooshiba, at this point. What did he ever do to get stuck with an asshole like this?

Ooshiba clicks his tongue. “Fuck you,” he responds, flippant. And then, after a long silence: “I’ll pay.”

Kimishita freezes. “You’ll pay,” he repeats, testing his luck.

Ooshiba scowls. “You got a problem with that?” 

“No!” 

Kimishita can’t help but feel irritated at the smug grin on Ooshiba’s face, but he grits his teeth and bears it.

“Seriously, what’s up with you?” he asks, once Ooshiba has paid and his poor and almost-empty wallet is safe. “You’re never this nice.”

Ooshiba stares at the ceiling like he’s trying to summon some higher power. What the hell, Kimishita thinks, like he has any right to be exasperated. 

“I was just... thinking,” Ooshiba says.

“You and what braincells?” Kimishita asks, shrugging on his jacket. 

“More than whatever you have!” Ooshiba yells. “And you know what I’m talking about!”

Kimishita shakes his head. “No clue.”

“You know,” Ooshiba says, pulling his jacket on. He shuffles his feet, looking nervous. “Whatever Aiba said.” 

“Oh,” Kimishita says. “That.”

“Yeah,” Ooshiba says. “That.”

Kimishita sighs. How to touch upon the nebulous relationship that’s existed between them for years? He’d rather not think about it. Emotional honesty has never been their strong suit. 

“Well, we can think about it some other time,” Kimishita says, and heads for the exit. 

Before he can actually leave and put this awkward evening behind him, there’s a strong hand grabbing his wrist.

He turns to see Ooshiba. “What do you want?” he hisses. 

“Nothing!” Ooshiba says. “Nothing. I... we should get back to the hotel.”

Kimishita looks at him with confusion. “That’s what I was doing,” he says, and Ooshiba nods all too quick.

“Yeah,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Hearing his agreement, Kimishita tries to tug his arm out from Ooshiba’s death grip, and fails. He frowns. “Why won’t you let—“

It’s hard to tell, because Ooshiba’s hair is so strikingly bright, but Kimishita thinks there’s a faint dusting of pink across his cheeks.

_Oh_ , Kimishita thinks, almost struck breathless. _Oh, I—_

Ooshiba’s hand slides down to intertwine with his, and Kimsihita, against all odds, lets him.

“Is this what you meant?” Kimishita manages to ask.

Ooshiba coughs violently. “Closer,” he mutters, gritting his teeth. “This is... this is closer.”

Kimishita doesn’t know how to bring up the fact that he might have a horrible and unfortunate crush on Ooshiba, actually, so maybe this is the worst way to do team bonding, ever. He doesn’t protest, though. Ooshiba’s hand is warm. 

Even though it’s the middle of winter, it feels like spring is just around the corner. 

“Let’s go,” Ooshiba repeats, pointedly not looking at Kimishita’s face. 

He sneaks a glance at him while they’re walking. His ears are burning red. He hasn’t looked towards Kimishita once. 

Kimishita is kind of glad for it. His hand isn’t shaking or doing anything embarrassing when they walk back together in the moonlight, but he’s definitely blushing just as hard, and most embarrassingly of all, he thinks he just might be smiling.

* * *

Ooshiba does not hold his hand during the Ryouzan match. In fact, Ooshiba kicks a soccer ball at his back and cackles at him until his face turns red from anger. 

He’s an idiot, and Kimishita hates him, and he’s also needlessly dedicated when he doesn’t have to be, and aware of what Kimishita’s thinking when he doesn’t have to be.

Really, it must be a special type of talent that Ooshiba has, to understand him so well and yet act like a buffoon for most of the time.

But that’s not really what’s important. Ooshiba is an asshole, and he’s horrible, and they won.

They won. 

Kimshita can’t stop thinking about it. There had been this split second moment where they’d locked eyes with each other, hands open for a high-five, and Ooshiba had just swept him up into a warm hug. It should have been horrible, with everyone out on the field, but he couldn’t think about any of that. It was just warm. 

Even now, just thinking about it transports him back to that same, rising warmth building in his chest. 

It’s so much. Everything is so much. There’s the feeling of victory and trepidation thudding in his chest, half-nightmare half-dream, and Kimishita doesn’t know how to deal with any of it. 

“Ugh,” he says, sinking down into the pillows. These beds are ungodly nice. Sometimes Kimishita forgets how prestigious and rich this school can be. Mostly he just yells at Ooshiba for being an insensitive prick. It hadn’t occurred to him that maybe a section of the school was also in the same boat.

“Ugh,” Kimishita repeats again. It’s useless to try to figure out what Ooshiba wants. All Kimishita can really do is figure out how it makes him feel, and that’s even worse. 

“Seems like you’ve got even more troubles than usual,” Suzuki comments.

Kimishita shakes his head. “It’s just something stupid.”

Suzuki narrows his eyes. “By any chance, is it about what you told me yesterday?”

“Wha—no!” He immediately regrets their conversation from last night. But Ooshiba’s hand had been warm, and comfortable, and everything felt so overwhelming he _had_ to tell someone. Suzuki is unnecessarily perceptive, but at least he’s not an idiot, so he understands things more than other people. 

“Right,” Suzuki says, raising an eyebrow. “And you’re not wearing Ooshiba’s jacket.”

Kimishita glances down. He is indeed wearing Ooshiba’s jacket. “Huh.”

“Huh,” Suzuki repeats, flatly. “Did you guys manage to swap jackets by accident?”

Kimishita shrugs. “Could be possible,” he says. “You know how Kiichi is.”

Suzuki makes an agreeing noise. Then he loses all good will he’d ever incurred by adding, “Maybe he just wanted you to wear his jacket, though. He was complaining about how cold it was, after all.”  
“Listen, I don’t know what Kiichi’s thinking,” he says. “Frankly, I don’t want to. This—whatever this is, whatever’s happening—is nothing.”

Suzuki raises an eyebrow. “Sure.”

“Really, it’s just—”

“He sat next to you on the bus,” Suzuki says. “That’s never happened before. Seriously, what’s up with him? What’s up with you?”

Kimishita snaps. “Nothing!”

Suzuki freezes in place.

Kimishita curls his fingers into fists. “Sorry,” he mutters. “It’s just… Aiba. He said this thing, right before the match, and I… I guess Ooshiba took it weirdly. It’ll blow over soon enough.”

“What thing?” 

“I already told you, last night,” Kimishita says. “It’s whatever, okay?” 

“You told me that Ooshiba was acting nicely to you,” Suzuki says, rolling his eyes. “And that he held your hand. I didn’t know it had anything to do with Aiba. And for what it’s worth, Ooshiba has been nice to you on other occasions.” 

“I know,” he sighs. “Kiichi… he’s nice. Don’t you think I know that? He’s just not… _that_ type of nice, especially not to me. Maybe he is to Tsukamoto, but not me. That’s why he’s doing this.” 

“Uh,” Suzuki says. “You’re not… jealous of Tsukamoto, are you?” 

“No!” Kimishita yells. “He’s an idiot, he needs all the help he can get—I’m not jealous. That was an observation.” 

“No need to get so worked up,” Suzuki says, sounding oddly like Usui. “But back to the point, what _did_ Aiba say to you?” 

Kimishita sighs. “Not exactly the same words, but he said something like… we needed to get closer to each other in order to win the match. If we were connected, we’d increase our time for ball possession. Which is… I mean, I know Ooshiba. We don’t get along, but I know him, and I know what he’ll do. And he knows me. So I don’t know why he’s like this all of a sudden.” 

“So… you think Ooshiba is holding your hand for a _team-bonding exercise_?”

Kimishita hangs his head and groans. “Essentially, yes.” He sighs again. “The Ryouzan match is over, though. I’m sure it’s going to end, now.”

There’s a knock on the hotel door. 

“No,” Suzuki says wryly. “I don’t think it will.” 

Standing outside their doorway, looking unusually meek, is the one and only Ooshiba. 

  
  


* * *

Ooshiba seems to be making a point of avoiding his eyes. Instead, he sees Suzuki sitting in their room, and brightens. 

Kimishita scowls. He looks like such an idiot. 

“I brought Satou,” Ooshiba says, helpfully, pushing Satou into the room, completely oblivious to his protests. 

“Why?” Kimishita asks. 

“Why—we’re rooming together, dumbass,” Ooshiba says. “Weren’t you listening earlier?” 

“Yeah, but… you know that wouldn’t actually work, right?” 

“I’m a great roommate!” Ooshiba argues. 

“If by ‘great’ you mean ‘horrible’, then sure.” 

“You’re so—”

Kimishita raises an eyebrow. “So…?” He prompts. 

Ooshiba’s face grows pink. “Whatever,” he snaps, grabbing Kimishita’s hand and yanking him out into the hall. “Come on.” 

Kimishita looks towards Suzuki. Suzuki shrugs and Satou gives him a thumbs up. Kimishita promises to make them experience hell tomorrow. Ooshiba shuts the door with a bang.  
Despite everything, the grasp on his hand is surprisingly gentle. Kimishita doesn’t know why he lets Ooshiba intertwine their fingers, but it’s more comfortable than being dragged everywhere. 

“Where are you taking me?” he asks. 

“Our room,” Ooshiba says. “Where else?”

Kimishita frowns. “You’re really hung up about this, aren’t you?”

“About what?” 

“Aiba,” Kimishita says, sighing. “You know, you don’t have to… force yourself to like me, if you think it’ll improve your soccer.”

Ooshiba is silent for a long time. Finally, with a superhuman effort, he says, “I don’t hate you, I guess.”

“You’re holding my hand,” Kimishita points out wryly. Then he realizes that they’re holding hands, _again_ , and his face warms. 

“So what about it?” Ooshiba asks, scowling “I said I don’t hate you, didn’t I?” He furrows his brows. “You don’t… hate me either, do you?” 

“Idiot,” Kimishita says. He can’t hide his fondness. 

“Whatever,” Ooshiba grumbles. “It was a stupid question, right?” 

“Do you think I’d call someone I hated by their first name?” Kimishita asks. 

“You’ve called me Kiichi since pretty much the first time we met,” Ooshiba says. 

“Yeah,” Kimishita says, staring at the ground. “Yeah, that’s my point.” 

“Oh,” Ooshiba says. He’s quiet for a long time. 

Kimishita peeks up at Ooshiba’s face. His ears are red. 

_Cute_ , he thinks, and is immediately mortified. 

“Why are you looking like that,” Ooshiba says, voice flat.

“Like what?” 

“You look,” Ooshiba says—and here he pauses for a lifetime of moments while Kimishita hears his heartbeat grow so loud it's thundering in his ears—”like you have indigestion.” 

Kimishita punches his shoulder. “I’m going to kill you,” he hisses. 

Ooshiba blinks down at him. There’s no reason he should be so freakishly tall. “What was that for?” 

“I take everything back,” Kimishita says. “I hate you, I’ve never hated anyone more in my life, than you—”

Ooshiba squeezes his hand. “Don’t be like that.” 

He bites his tongue in surprise. 

“See,” Ooshiba says. “We can be civil, after all.” His hands are warm. He’s sure they’ll get sweaty soon enough, but right now, the feeling is pleasant and comforting. 

“...If it’s one night,” Kimishita mumbles. “I guess it won’t be that bad.” 

Ooshiba beams at him so brightly he can’t look. “See,” he says, sincere to the bone, “I’m doing things right.” 

Things do feel right, almost _too_ right, too close to something that would only ever be real in a dream. He wonders if Ooshiba even knows a sliver of what he’s thinking. If what he means is what Kimishita wants it to mean. 

Instead of saying anything else, Ooshiba turns the corner and walks into a wall. 

* * *

He can’t sleep. They have a match tomorrow, and knowing the momentum from Ryouzan, they’ll probably win, but— 

He still can’t sleep. There’s been this itching feeling in his skin ever since the match ended, this unsatisfying swirl of misery rising up from its old home and coiling up in his gut once again, almost like it had never left. 

“You’re thinking too loud,” Ooshiba says. 

“I’m not doing anything, though?” 

“Yeah, but—” He hears the sheets rustle, and peeks out from under the covers to see Ooshiba sitting up. “See?” Ooshiba says. 

“Not really,” he says, clambering out of bed. Kimishita can’t see. He’s not wearing his glasses.

Ooshiba pats the spot on the bed by his legs. “I can hear you thinking too loud,” he says. “It’s bothering me. Come on, sit.” 

Kimishita yawns and takes the offer. “I can’t believe you’re offended by the sound of my breathing.” 

“When you’re so loud, anybody would be!” Ooshiba says, indignant. “You keep shifting around too much. It’s distracting.” 

“Yeah, well, I can’t sleep,” Kimishita says, rubbing his eyes. “Nothing I can do about that.” 

“We can just talk, then,” Ooshiba says, voice deceptively soft. “Like old times.” 

The dark is a wonder. There’s enough light from electronic devices to outline Ooshiba’s face, the brushstrokes of his expression, but not enough to catch the subtleties of what he means, in the way his lips twitch ever so slightly when he’s sad, or the way his hands drum in a certain pattern when he’s nervous. It’s just enough to know what Ooshiba says and to see his face and know that they’re looking at each other. 

“I feel like… I didn’t do enough today,” Kimishita sighs. “We won, of course. And I’m happy that we won. But… I don’t feel like I did what I wanted to.” 

Ooshiba frowns. “So?” 

“So… I guess I’m frustrated,” he mumbles. “I mean, who wouldn’t be?” 

“Just kick ass tomorrow, then,” Ooshiba says. “I’ll make sure to pass to you and everything.” 

Kimishita snorts. “What, you’re going to willingly give up the spotlight for once?” 

Ooshiba considers it for a long moment. “For you, I could make… a one-time exception, probably,” he says, haltingly. 

“Oh,” Kimishita says. “I… thanks, I guess.”

“I still have a long way to go with my soccer, too,” Ooshiba says. “I mean, I’m a genius, so maybe not as much as you, but…” He grips the bed sheets tight. “Not at Mizuki’s level yet, huh?”

“It’s useless to compare,” Kimishita says. 

“Yeah, well… what do you think?” 

“What?” 

“You,” Ooshiba says, staring at him with a quiet intensity. “Objectively, where do you think I’m at? If there’s anyone who would know, it would be you?”

“You’re good at soccer,” Kimishita says, careful and measured. “Sure, you’re an absolute incapable dumbass, but you’re good at soccer. People who don’t realize that, people who underestimate you... they’re all wrong.”

Ooshiba ducks his head, suddenly at a loss for words. After a long, quiet breath, he finally says, “Where would I be without my teammate?”

Kimishita stares at him. “Playing soccer?”

He shakes his head. “Maybe,” he says. “But not like this. Not without... you.”

He sighs. “You’re good enough without me, you know. It’s not like I’m even that great—“

“Stop that,” Ooshiba says. “You’re the greatest—“

“Because you know me,” Kimishita cuts in.

“Because I know you!” Ooshiba says. “I know you, not anybody else, and you’ve helped me in so many ways, and it’s because I know you that I know how amazing you are.”

He huffs and meets Kimishita’s eyes.

Suddenly, it’s impossible to look away. 

“People who don’t realize that,” Ooshiba parrots back, “people who underestimate you are all wrong.”

It’s strange, and maybe it’s not the right reaction to have, but Kimishita smiles. That nervous energy that’s been bubbling up in him vanishes. 

“Even an idiot can say something insightful once in a while.” 

“Go to sleep,” Ooshiba says. 

And Kimishita does. 

* * *

“Don’t you think Ooshiba looked pretty happy for you?” Satou asks, while they’re migrating over to the bleachers. 

Kimishita scowls at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Your amazing free kick, of course,” Satou says. “Seriously, he was smiling so big, he looked so stupid.”

“You’re telling me that’s any different than how he usually looks?” 

Satou sighs. “You’d know what I mean if you saw it.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Kimishita grumbles, “so you don’t have to go on and on about it.”

Whenever Ooshiba smiles, he always looks like an idiot. But there’s a difference from his smug, arrogant smile and the smile he does when he’s truly excited about something. The latter is rare and feels like a precious secret. 

“...Kimishita?” 

He hasn’t seen that kind of smile in a while. It’s not good to look for someone’s smile in the middle of a match, anyways. 

“By any chance,” Satou asks, “are you… jealous?” 

Kimishita freezes. “What?” 

“You just seemed kind of bummed out, I don’t know,” Satou says. “And we all know how much you care about Ooshiba.” 

Kimishita huffs. “It’s not anything special.” 

When he turns to look at Satou, he has an affronted look on his face. “I’m not even Ooshiba, and I got offended on his behalf,” he mutters. “Suzuki was right, you are hopeless.”

“...Suzuki?” Kimishita asks. 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Satou says, though he sounds distracted. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Speaking of that, well—oh there’s Ooshiba, I’ll go get him—be nice to him, alright?”

Like magic, Suzuki taps his shoulder and falls into step next to him, quiet as they shuffle into the bleachers. 

By some horrendous form of luck, Ooshiba and Satou are seated in the row in front of them. “Right,” Kimishita says, “Satou says I should be nice to you.” 

Maybe it’s just the cold, but in front of him, the tips of Satou’s ears are turning pink. 

“Did he?” Suzuki asks, ignoring the fact that Satou’s very clearly in front of him. It’s times like this when Kimishita gets the strangest sense that he’s a little like Usui. “How kind of him.” 

“I don’t know what he was thinking about,” Kimishita says. “I’m always pretty nice to you.” 

Suzuki laughs. “Well, I appreciate the thought, anyways.”

He turns his attention to the game, but his mind can’t sit still. Ooshiba’s sitting right in front of him, so tall that he’s still taking up the field of his vision. It’s like he’s on a different sized scale than everyone else. Even though he’s met so many tall guys, Kimishita doesn’t think that feeling will ever change. 

“You look like you’re thinking pretty deeply about something,” Suzuki whispers. 

Kimishita stares forward. “Maybe.” 

“I mean, I don’t really understand it,” Suzuki continues. “The way you see him… I know I don’t. And there’s a lot of things to hate about him.”

“And your point is…?” 

“My point,” Suzuki says, “is that you already know all of what I’m telling you. That’s it.” 

Seeing Ooshiba in front of him, he’s reminded once again of the massive weight of his presence, so bright that even if he was on the other side of the world, Kimishita would be able to hear him. They’ve known each other for so long that it would feel strange to have it any other way. 

“I guess so,” Kimishita mumbles. 

Ooshiba stands up from his seat, completely obscuring his view of the game. 

_Fuck it_ , Kimishita thinks. _I’m going to kick him._

* * *

“I can’t believe I’m rooming with you again,” Kimishita mutters, squeezing his eyes shut. He feels like he’s spinning his wheels. Maybe if he counts to three, this will be some ridiculous, feverish hallucination brought out from the snow, and not Ooshiba sitting at the foot of his bed, absently patting at his leg like it’s natural. Even if Ooshiba wasn’t here, his mind is a whirlwind from thinking about the match. 

“Eita said he needed Hideki,” Ooshiba says. “I’m doing a favor for him.” 

He cracks one eye open. “Didn’t know you’d do a favor for Suzuki,” he says. Who even decides to pat someone’s leg like that anyways? Is he trying to lull him into sleep? Is he just trying to get closer to him? Even if that’s true, why is he patting his leg and not holding his hand? 

“It’s more of a favor to Hideki, really,” Ooshiba says. “I mean, thinking about it. Besides…” 

_Do I want him to hold my hand?_ he thinks, and banishes the thought before he thinks too deeply. He already knows the answer to that question, anyways. He’s known for a while now. “Mm,” he says. “I guess you can be generous to other people every once in a while.” 

Ooshiba’s hands still. “You seem distracted.”

“I’m tired, not distracted,” Kimishita says, closing his eyes. “Why do you think I’m trying to sleep?” 

Suddenly, a shadow falls over him. “You’re not trying to sleep.”

His eyes fly open. Ooshiba is leaning over him, a confused expression on his face. For someone who makes such a fool of himself, he has no right to be as attractive as he looks right now. Kimishit'as face warms. “You don’t sleep like this,” Ooshiba says. “Is it about today’s match?”

“Sure,” Kimishita says with a strangled voice. He coughs to hide his embarrassment. “Get off me before I suffocate.”

Ooshiba, surprisingly enough, obeys without complaint. 

Kimishita sits up slowly. “Satou said you liked my free kick,” he says. 

“L—liked…?” Ooshiba sputters. “It was just a kick.”

“No,” Kimishita says, staring down at his hands. “It’s never that simple.”

“Is this what’s been bothering you all day?” 

“Somewhat.” There’s no way he can explain the other thing, after all. “You would never do something you didn’t want to, right?”

Ooshiba frowns. “Sorry,” he says, “I don’t understand poor people's problems. What’s—”

“It’s not about me,” Kimishita snaps. “I was asking you. Why do you have to—”

“Thought you needed help,” Ooshiba says. “But I wouldn’t, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“Oh.” _So_ , Kimishita wants to ask, _why are you here? Why have you been acting so weird?_

“Oh?” Ooshiba repeats. “What does that have to do with our soccer match, anyways.”

“Just curious,” Kimishita says. “I guess… lately, I’ve been looking for a reason to be here. Other things have just happened to pop up.”

Ooshiba gives him a questioning look. “You’re here because you want to win Nationals, aren’t you?”

“Not here like the physical place, dumbass,” he sighs. “ _Here_ like Seiseki.”

Ooshiba is silent for a long time. Kimishita sighs again. “It’s not that im—” 

“Do you really need a reason to be here?” Ooshiba asks. “I mean, I’m here. Isn’t that enough?” 

Kimishita blinks up at him. There’s not a hint of dishonesty on Ooshiba’s face. “Seriously,” he says, holding down his surprised laughter, “that’s a new level of arrogance.”

“Yeah, well—”

“You’re greedy, Kiichi,” Kimishita says, staring harder at his hands. His heart is beating loud in his chest. “You know that, right? You’re greedy, and impatient, and disrespectful, and without an ounce of intelligence—” He swallows. “And I still don’t hate you.” He takes a deep breath. “In fact,” he says, summoning all of his courage to look Ooshiba in the eye, “I really am glad to have met you.”

Ooshiba’s face is a bright, bright, bright red. He’s almost turned the color of his hair.

Kimishita blinks, slowly. “Why’re you blushing?” he asks.

“You—“ Ooshiba whisper-screams. “You’re so fucking annoying all the time, you know that?”

Kimishita clicks his tongue. “Well if you’re going to be like that—“

Ooshiba’s hand grabs his wrist. Kimishita stills. Ooshiba pulls him closer, and Kimishita is made intimately aware of the details of Ooshiba’s face. Here, he’s close enough to feel the heat radiating off his cheeks, too.

“Kiichi?” Kimishita asks.

He receives a strangled noise in response. With what looks like a tremendous difficulty, Ooshiba swallows and meets his eyes. “Stay,” he says.

“What?” 

“Stay,” Ooshiba repeats, breathing tight, looking away once more. “Not here, but…” 

“Kiichi,” Kimishita says, growing frustrated by the millisecond. “Explain with your words, you dumbass, you can’t expect all of us to know idiot-speak like you—“

Ooshiba’s hand drops down from Kimishita’s wrist to intertwine with his fingers, and things click into place. 

Kimishita scowls. “Asshole.”

Ooshiba bites his lip, silent.

Kimishita leans in, and Ooshiba’s eyes flutter shut in anticipation. 

“For someone so annoyingly tall,” Kimishita mutters, “you sure are a child.” 

“Shut up,” Ooshiba says.

Kimishita grins. “Make me.”

“Fuck you,” Ooshiba says, but he’s already leaning in, and Kimishita gives Ooshiba’s hand a comforting squeeze and kisses him properly. 

Above them, the sun rises up in the sky, and despite the chill of winter, the flowers unfurl into full bloom. 

**Author's Note:**

> i started this fic like... a year ago? and then I realized that as it was taking place during the nationals matches i had no idea how to make it canon compliant and still advance the story, haha. now that i know more, i'm pretty sure it fits in the timeline! realistically, it would take Years for these two to actually get together, but i did not have the energy for that kind of fic, whoops. this fic also started out as a whole companion piece to a satou/suzuki fic i was writing (hence the series marking) so hopefully i can post that companion piece sometime in the future! 
> 
> find me on @sonnets-of-beauty at tumblr if you wanna talk days or anything else!


End file.
